


Don't Die

by Kannika



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 16:57:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11085948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kannika/pseuds/Kannika
Summary: The first and last time that Wally and Dick bandage each other's wounds after a fight.





	Don't Die

**Author's Note:**

> You can see this as love or platonic love, but regardless, I love Wally and Dick's relationship in Young Justice. 
> 
> And then because I like pain, I thought of this.

The first time they bandage each other’s wounds, Robin is eleven and Wally is thirteen. They weren’t supposed to meet, if the scowl on Batman’s face is any indication, but Barry heard there was a hostage situation and they were only five minutes away and they had to come. Wally’s never been to Gotham, but the streets seem darker than in Central. Like the rain has a permanent place in the pavement. Like people don’t leave their houses unless they have to. 

He doesn’t like it, but Robin’s smile is the brightest thing in the whole city and that almost makes it worth it. 

“Nice to meet someone less than forty.” He says, way too chipper for having a bullet hole in his arm. Wally has a matching one in his leg, so he can’t really complain. The pain is already numbing, though, with the towel pressed to it, courtesy of Robin.

“It is.” Wally gives him a smile back. “And not my uncle. How old are you?”

Robin hesitates a second. “Twelve.”

“Cool. Thirteen.”

Robin nods distractedly. His finger is tapping restlessly on Wally’s leg through the towel- like he wants to be moving still. All the energy seeking an outlet to escape. He understands the feeling. After a close call on a mission, it feels like his skin is full of static, like his blood is electric, like the world isn’t moving fast enough to keep up with him.

“You should count how long between that light going on and off.”

Robin looks up at him in surprise, and Wally nods to a lamppost just behind them. Every three seconds, it flickers, throwing their shadows against the wall and enunciating them into monsters. 

“It’ll slow your heartbeat down. It makes it hurt a little less.”

Robin smiles and turns a little so Wally can tie the end of the bandage off on his arm off. There’s some blood seeping through, a small rose on the stark white on the tan skin of his arm. It feels like trust. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth.”

“It works!”

“Then it’s just a distraction.” Robin corrects. “Something to get your mind off the pain.”

“That’s a bonus.” Wally finishes securing the bandage and hands him a cold pack for his head. He accepts it gratefully and doesn’t pull away from him. More trust. Batman doesn’t trust but apparently Robin does and Wally could bask in it. 

Robin balances the cold pack on the top of his head perfectly and leans forward to press the towel down harder; Wally’s leg comes alive, and the sparks of pain press against every muscle in his body so he grits his teeth. When it all clears, Robin is focused very intently on him. He doesn’t have his eyes showing but Wally imagines if he did they’d be vivid as the day. He misses nothing and he zeroes in like a hawk. 

“I’m fine.” Wally lies. 

Robin bites his lip and glances down at the bloody towel. There isn’t much, fortunately. By the time they got him to a hospital that wouldn’t ask questions, it would already be healed. It just hurts like hell until it does.

“You’re sure the bullet’s out?” He asks. 

“I’d feel it if it was. It’ll just be another few minutes. Then I’ll be good as new. I have to do homework.”

“What subject?”

“Math.” Wally rolls his eyes. “My teacher is the devil.”

“Mine, too. I’m trying to convince Batman that she’s a supervillain so I can get out of my test on Friday.”

That, Wally has to admit, is how you do weeknight plans. “I should try that.”

Robin’s hand tapping on his thigh is slower, and then finally, in the silence between them, it stops.

They sit in silence, barely breathing, listening to Batman and Flash talk and the faint wail of police sirens in the background that sings like music. 

“Huh.” Robin says, barely a hum. “What do you know. Guess that trick does work.”

“Told you.”

When Robin grins back at him, Wally is certain: they’re going to be seeing each other again, whether Batman likes it or not.

\-----------------------------

The last time they bandage each other’s wounds, Dick is eighteen and Wally is twenty.

“I can’t believe you ran on that.” Dick scolds.

Wally gives him a sideways grin and shifts so that he’s off of the one shin that’s cut. It’s not deep, not compared to how much worse they’ve both had, but compared to the unharmed Dick was hoping for, it’s an unwelcome sight. “You sound like my mom.”

“You’d better hope I don’t tell your mom.” He retorts, and gestures for Wally to jump up on the kitchen table so he can see it. 

Wally obliges, albeit with a roll of his eyes, because that’s how he functions. They’re back at him and Artemis’ house, which is a lot dirtier than he had hoped it would be considering Wally was the only one who knew Artemis was alive. Not safe, sure, but alive, and that was more than anyone else had. With the pizza boxes, dirty clothes, garbage bags not taken out, undone homework, he worried more than he had let on. He played the heartbroken act a bit too well. 

“See? Not deep at all!” Wally points to his shin. “No bone!” And then he pauses, and laughs. “Wow. Our standards are terrible.”

“Thank God you said it, because I was about to.”

He’s about to start winding it, but Wally stops him. “You can do that if I can take care of the shiner on your forehead.”

Dick frowns. “I don’t have one of those.”

“Then you don’t remember being hit and my point is proven.”

“Is there blood?”

Wally hums and looks at his forehead. “Some.”

Damn. There’s no getting around that. Dick relents, and goes to the counter for the glass of water sitting on it. There was ice in it when they left, this morning, but now it’s just water. At least it’s somewhat cold. 

He hands it to Wally, who presses it to his forehead while he bandages his shin. The blood is seeping through at two layers, four, but at five it fades to mottled brown and at six it stops showing. 

“Hand me the rest,” Wally says, sounding bored.

They switch off. When they were younger, after a mission Wally used to be restless, used to fidget until the adrenaline faded and his blood cooled. Now, though, his hands on Dick’s face, holding him still as he wipes the blood off his face to assess whether he needs stitches, are utterly still. No tremble at all. He’s grown used to the high that comes after running, after years and years of practice. No ‘retirement’ can kill that. 

It’s probably ridiculous how happy he is that Wally can’t actually get rid of his superpowers, it’s likely mean considering he tried to live a normal life, but he can’t help it. Wally just isn’t Wally without his speed and the mindset it gives him. It’s the only Wally Dick has ever known. 

“You’re lucky, as usual.” Wally says after a long, comfortable silence, pulling back the bandage peppered with blood spots. “It stopped bleeding already. No stitches.”

“I’m lucky? You took a sword to the leg and you already stopped bleeding.” Dick says crossly. “I’d kill for your regenerative powers.” 

Wally gives him a knowing grin and presses the glass of water up to Dick’s forehead again, blissfully cool against his skin. “You’re going to need it, after everyone in the league and team are through giving you a piece of their mind for the stunt you pulled.”

Dick grimaces. Yeah. Yeah, he’s not looking forward to that. The team hadn’t really had time to process before they had to go to the meeting with the Light, they had followed his orders in shock and with some slight disbelief, and the few people that have processed it are not pleased. They’re pissed at him, some more than others. 

He deserves every bit of it. He played them like chess pieces on a board. And it may have paid off, but he still remembers the failsafe where he thought Artemis died under his watch, where he sacrificed Conner for the greater good, where he lied to Wally because he knew what was best for him even though it hadn’t been necessary. He can’t forget it. He never can. They never will, either. Every time they grieve for someone, they’ll remember Artemis’ funeral and wonder if it’s a lie again. 

And none of them were traitors. If he had trusted them with the truth, it would have worked almost as well, probably, and they wouldn’t have hurt. It’s a choice he’s not going to forget easily. 

He looks up at Wally; he’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for, in his eyes, but there’s no sympathy there. Very little understanding. Some dark, sharp humor and calm acceptance that Wally knows, as usual, everything he’s thinking. 

“Tell Green Arrow over the phone.” He says wryly.

Dick cringes. God, that conversation.

“If I die, please tell Bruce I want to be avenged.”

Wally looks hurt. “I thought it was my job to avenge you!”

“You were in on this. You might want to use your head start to get out of the country.” 

“…Ah.”

Dick hadn’t really paid much attention to whether or not his head hurt before, but he sure as hell notices when Wally pulls the glass back and no pain follows it. It’s a good thing Wally noticed it. It would’ve been difficult to function tomorrow.

Or later today, for these conversations and all the yelling he’s going to endure. 

“Go before they hear it through the grapevine.” Wally says, kicking his leg up a little bit to show him that he can move it just fine. “You’ll need the element of surprise.”

“Thanks.” Dick steps back and stretches his hands over his head, considering the fastest ways to get to the league members who need to know why he did it. Green Arrow, Black Canary, and Aquaman come to mind as the most pressing. He’s not looking forward to talking to any of them. “Wish me luck.” 

Wally just shakes his head and grins, stepping down from the table to clap a hand on Dick’s shoulder. His hold is strong, and reassuring, and his gaze completely steady and at odds with his smile. “Don’t die.” 

Dick rolls his eyes and leaves.

\-------------------------

(He should’ve said it back.)


End file.
